Batman Beyond: Agent of the Bat
by David Golightly
Summary: Fourth and final issue online! This ongoing series takes place two years after the cartoon ended. Follow Terry through New Gotham as he faces classic villains reimagined, his own foes, and even the JLU! Includes a new Azrael and a surprise villain.
1. Chapter 1

**Batman Beyond**

Issue #1

"Agent of the Bat: Part One"

* * *

The cool night air was damp and murky, hiding things that the regular men and women of Gotham City didn't want to be aware of. To most of its inhabitants Gotham was a technological utopia, complete with most everything they needed to be happy. They had surpassed Metropolis' computer industries over two decades ago and were happy enough relishing in their economical boon.

The things that went bump in the night were of no concern to the majority of the populace. Hearing about it on the news was much better than worrying while walking down the street at night. To the lower echelons of the social hierarchy this made the general populace look naïve and ignorant. As they say, ignorance is bliss.

"Marta, I don't want to cut down that alley," a middle-aged man told his much younger date for the evening. "Let's just call a cab instead of taking shortcuts through the underbelly of Gotham."

"Niles, you insufferable stiff," Marta replied playfully. Her stark white hair bounced in the artificial light provided by the city's illuminators while she pulled at Niles' arm. "Afraid of the dark? C'mon, it's just a shortcut. My place is right on the other side and I run through here all the time."

Regretfully, Niles gave in to her date's pleas. After all, it wasn't every night he met up with a drop dead gorgeous specimen of a woman half his age. The couple walked arm in arm across the sidewalk and into the dimly lit alleyway.

Even in this day and age Gotham City still had a trash problem. It was no where near the refuse pile it had once been during Mayor Grange's tenure but in the seedy back streets the local gangs made trash collection slightly more than difficult. Empty cartons and used food dispensers spilled out of the bins, blown up against the sides of the buildings and crunching under the couple's feet.

It had become a cliché: the city was mostly clean in appearance only. The topside that people chatted about in their high rise apartments was the envy of other, lesser cities while the underbelly remained a hidden blemish. Leaps and bounds in technology could only go skin deep.

"Well, look what we have here!" a giggling baritone voice said from the shadows.

Niles stopped, tossing his arm up in front of Marta. His eyes bulged as he saw the street hoodlums melt away from the recesses of the alley and into his field of vision. There were four altogether, wearing various costumes of purple, green, red, and white. Each had a sickening smile placed on his face as if constantly amused by some sick joke.

"Mr. Uptown with his fancy overcoat and platinum I.D. rings…maybe he's lost? Maybe we should help him, boys?" the voice continued. Niles could see it belonged to the largest of the group, a tall black man with white face paint and a red vest. "Maybe he just needs a good joke to get him on his way? Hehe…haha…HAHAHA!"

The other three Jokerz started laughing along with the ringleader, their voices echoing up and down the alley walls. Niles began to loosen his apparel, preparing to hand it over in order to hopefully save his life.

The large black Joker leapt forward, crossing the gap between them in a heartbeat. "Lemme ask ya this, Uptown," he began. "Why did the rich man cross the road? Hehehe…"

Two high pitched sounds split through the night and sliced into Niles' ears. He couldn't tell where it was coming from, almost as if the shadows themselves were whistling. Just as the two piercing sounds suddenly stopped, twin metallic clangs exploded out to replace them. Two of the Jokerz that had been holding crude clubs grasped their hands in pain as their weapons fell uselessly to the ground. Their leader's face was cast in terror as he took a step back from Niles and Marta, his mouth opening wide in fear.

Apparently, he knew those sounds all too well.

"Always the same sad story with you clowns," a deep, resonating voice said from somewhere above them. "Hiding yourselves among the garbage where you belong."

"Jack Jack!" one of the underlings whispered. "Come on, man! Let's get out of here before--"

"Shut it!" the leader, Jack Jack, yelled back. "Ain't no urban myth going to--HYUK!"

Jack Jack's chin shot straight up as he teetered back from some invisible assault he had been the target of. His pupils shot back and forth rapidly in search of his attacker, just as Niles was doing. Had the gang leader been faking it to mess with him even more? Some kind of twisted joke?

"What the h--HUFF!" Jack Jack doubled over, this time as a result of an imaginary kick to his abdomen.

Niles felt Marta gripping his arm, snapping him back to reality. Whatever was going on he had to get them out of there. He tried to bring his other arm around her to guide them back into the open street but her finger nails were dug so far into his coat sleeve that it was obvious she wouldn't budge. In fact, her eyes never left the fallen clown leader, as if she was in a trance.

"How many times do I have to teach you this lesson?" the mysterious voice continued. "Gotham is my city and you're not welcome in it."

Jack Jack fell to the ground as if pushed. Niles stared on in disbelief as right before his very eyes the invisible assailant finally revealed himself and shimmered into focus. He had heard stories about a dark vigilante roaming the city at night, insanely taking it upon himself to force a wild idea of street justice onto whoever crossed his path. This had to be him, had to be the legend people called…

"Batman," Marta whispered. It sounded more like an accusation than an observation.

Dressed completely in black from head to toe, aside from a crimson symbol in the shape of a bat splashed onto his chest, the tall and lean looking man before Niles stared down at the fallen Jack Jack. This man, whoever he was, was the most intimidating person Niles had ever seen.

The remaining three Jokerz had rallied together and found strength in their numbers, now charging the man in black. Niles thought for sure that even with his impressive stealth capabilities this man was definitely not a match for three crazed gang members. If the stranger shared Niles' worries, he certainly didn't show it by standing completely still and waiting for the Jokerz to come to him.

The first one, garbed in a red and white bodysuit, lunged at the man in black with his fists flying high and fast. Batman, if that's who he actually claimed to be, easily sidestepped the novice attack and retaliated with one of his own. A split second later, the Joker was down for the count on the alley floor beside Jack Jack.

The second and third Jokerz attacked in tandem, one high and one low. Batman hopped up in the air effortlessly and batted away the high kick aimed for his head, while simultaneously avoiding the low kick meant to knock him over. Before touching the ground again, Batman returned the kick to both of their heads, hitting them both in one amazing aerial roundhouse sweep.

All four Jokerz now lay on the alley floor, softly moaning from the pain Batman had dispensed.

"C…c-c'mon, Marta…" Niles muttered to his still shocked date.

"The only place she's going is a jail cell," Batman responded, turning to face the pair. "Her name isn't Marta. It's Harriett. As in Mad Harriett of the Jokerz. She set you up, pal. Her job was to get you into this alley so the laughing boys here could take you down."

"You watch what you--Marta?"

The white-haired woman finally let go of Niles' arm to toss her handbag and fluffy coat off. No sooner had her things hit the ground than she launched herself at Batman, her nails clawing at the air between them.

Niles fell back on top of her coat, utterly stunned. He watched as the woman who had been so eager to leave the nightclub with him broke out in a series of moves that would surprise action film stars. Her forearm met Batman's again and again as they dueled inside of complex motions until she finally slipped up and he backhanded her down beside Niles.

"Marta!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, stuff it already," she shot back. "Can't you take a hint?"

"She's right," Batman said dispassionately. "Get up. Call the police and tell them to come pick up five Jokerz members."

Niles, as stalwart as he was, obeyed the strange vigilante. He took a deep breathe, picked himself up, and backed away from the entire scene into the open street. He opened his overcoat in search of his phone, and when he raised his head again he saw his pseudo-date cuffed to the unconscious Jack Jack with Batman no where in sight.

No one was going to believe him about what had happened. Especially his wife.

* * *

"You're late," Bruce Wayne scolded as the man in black hopped down from the landing pad.

"I would have called but…you know," Batman shot back. "Fighting the good fight every night kind of keeps me preoccupied."

The urban myth known as Batman walked across the expansive chamber affectionately referred to as the Batcave. Mounds of equipment lined the stone walls as the echoes of his footsteps reverberated into the deep chasms. The vessel behind him, a black and red airship that was among the most sophisticated military vehicles on the planet, gently hummed as it powered down from the previous flight.

Batman climbed the short flight of steps that led to an impressive computer array with dozens of monitors surrounding a lone, elderly man with white hair and a black suit. All of this once aided the older man, Bruce Wayne, in his own crusade against the underworld. Now he merely used it to help the current holder of the mantle, a much younger man who he had stumbled across years ago.

"Jokerz?" Bruce asked abruptly.

"Led by Mad Harriett no less," Batman responded as he slid off his face mask to reveal a youthful twenty-something with dark hair. "She's apparently back in town and that can't mean anything good."

"Hh," Bruce shallowly commented as he spun back to face the monitors. "They're organizing. Calling back in their leaders to close ranks. You'll need to start actively searching for them again."

"First thing tomorrow night," the unmasked Batman replied. "I have to see Dana before she forgets I'm her boyfriend."

"Still holding that together, huh?" Bruce remarked over his shoulder.

"Every once in a while I like to let Terry McGinnis out to play. It keeps me from becoming some kind of recluse."

One of Bruce's eyebrows rose slightly at Terry's comment but he kept clicking away at the console. The pair had been working together for several years now and the occasional potshot, while unnecessary, was expected every now and again. Even though he didn't show or share the sentiment, it pleased Bruce that his newest charge was able to keep a sense of humor. It meant that the rough business they were in hadn't totally overtaken him yet.

"Any special occasion?" Bruce asked.

"Sort of," Terry replied. "First day of classes begin tomorrow at Gotham University. Vacation's over so it's time to hit the books again. I promised my mom I wouldn't slack off in college like I did in high school so that means even less time with Dana. Speaking of which, I need to jet. You going to be okay?"

Bruce casually waved his hand as a motion that he would probably remain at the console for another few hours. Terry smirked, remembering how useless it would be to argue with his mentor that the city would survive without him if he decided to get some sleep. Some things never change.

* * *

Silently the dark figure crept alongside a platform underneath the monorail system that sprung in and out of the city. Cloaked in a bizarre costume of red, black, and yellow, the figure fell into a crouch as the Gotham Savior Institute came into his view. Tonight his crusade would begin anew.

The moon was high over his head, and just as a passing cloud blocked what little light it offered, he pushed out into the air and fell toward the street. Fear was something that he refused to allow into his mind as the wind rushed against his black and red full face mask, the hood covering it flapping rapidly. A segmented cape fluttered behind him bearing the same colors of his mask, and the source of his total freedom in the night air. At the last possible moment the figure somersaulted forward so his feet were pointed at the quickly approaching ground, spreading his arms wide to activate the anti-gravity generator that lined his cape. Miraculously, the figure gently touched down on the pavement where he should have fallen to his death.

Moving faster than any normal man could the figure ran to a side entrance of the building he was targeting, striking the keypad near the door with flying fingers. He punched in fifty different combinations before finding the correct one, causing the door to slide open. He slipped through the entry and sealed the door behind him, breaking the interior keypad. No one would be able to leave through the door, which was exactly what he wanted.

The figure clenched his fingers, a motion that caused twin daggers to push out from the tops of his gauntlets. The blades extended a foot out from his balled fists, glistening in the artificial light. Another snap of his wrists triggered the deadly capabilities of the twin daggers as they began to vibrate and hum. The blades soon changed from their natural silver to a bright and fiery orange, now able to pierce most anything.

The figure stalked through the inside of the Gotham Savior Institute, beginning his crusade against the blasphemers. None of them would leave the complex alive.

* * *

"Hey, wake up, bonehead!" a little kid yelled. "And shut your stupid alarm off!"

Terry smacked his alarm clock to stop the annoying chirping as he rolled onto his side. He had only gotten a few hours of sleep after his night at the club with Dana and it showed. Right now all he wanted was to roll back over and pass out, along with the freedom of shutting up his brother Matt the same way he had his alarm.

"Come on," Matt continued. "Mom's going to go thermal if you don't get downstairs right now. She's pacing back and forth like that time she thought you had been arrested."

Terry finally opened his eyes to see his little brother's cynical smile in the doorway. He loved his brother, he really did…he just had to remind himself of that every time he saw the little punk.

"What's going on?" Terry lazily asked.

"Something with Mr. Wayne. Better hurry up."

Terry immediately snapped to attention, springing out of bed and vaulting down the stairs. Despite his brother's abusively annoying behavior he knew that whatever was going on it had to be serious. His first thought when he turned the corner into the kitchen and saw the worried look on his mother's face was that he shouldn't have left the cave last night.

"Terry…" she whispered.

"What is it?" he implored. "What's wrong, Mom?"

"The hospital called this morning," she explained. "It's Mr. Wayne…He was found in his house this morning by the maid service with a puncture wound to his chest."

Terry's world crashed down around him. Images swirled around inside his mind, taunting him with the idea that he could have prevented what had happened. With a great amount of effort he pushed the worst fears aside and walked closer to his mother. She clasped his hands in hers and leaned in to him to try and give some type of comfort to her oldest son.

"You were listed as his primary contact," she continued. "You had better get over there as soon as you can. They said he'll be in surgery for the next few hours but you should be there now."

Terry let his fingers slip out from in between hers as he ran for the front door. She was right, he had to be there now. He tried to suppress his thoughts until he had more information but there was one in particular that crept up no matter what.

Which one of their enemies had done it?

* * *

**Beyond the Issue**

The first issue of Batman Beyond is finally here! Along with the brand-spankin'-new imprint for the most explosive DC fan fiction website out there, DC Infinity! This is a part of the new Elseworlds imprint, so I hope you enjoyed it. I have tons of plans for this ongoing series and I promise to explore every inch of the Bruce Timm animated universe.

Speaking of that universe, where exactly does this series fall in with it? Well, after careful thought, I've decided to place this title two years after the last episode of the Batman Beyond cartoon, but before the Justice League Unlimited episode entitled "Epilogue." While that JLU episode was well down and a nice end to a terrific cartoon, I'm not entirely crazy about the whole "Terry is Bruce's genetic son" angle. I may decide to explore it later in this fanfic series, but for now, I'm not considering it canon.

Next issue: the mysterious bladed prowler strikes again while Bruce and Terry try to figure out just exactly what is going on!

-D. Golightly

11/24/06


	2. Chapter 2

**Batman Beyond**

Issue #2

"Agent of the Bat: Part Two"

* * *

"I'm fine."

Terry stood a few feet from the edge of his mentor's bed, a look of questioning disbelief on his face. He never knew Bruce Wayne to be especially heartwarming but he assumed that given the circumstance that the man would at least be relaxed.

"There's a hole in your chest the size of a cigar," Terry replied. "You are not fine."

"They treat me like a caged animal in here," Bruce said with disdain. "I hate hospitals. I'll be leaving this afternoon. We have work to do."

"The only work you'll be doing is recuperation."

Bruce leveled a gaze at his young ward but didn't hold it for long. The once pinnacle of human perfection felt unsteady in both voice and conviction. His mission would never end but he couldn't say the same for his mortal coil. His present state was evidence enough of that.

Terry McGinnis looked over the medical chart that had been hanging at the end of the bed. He wasn't as well versed in healthcare as his teacher but he knew enough to be able to decipher the chart. Medical science had leapt ahead in technological advances since Bruce's early days at Dr. Thompson's Free Clinic. A small rectangular machine currently attached to his chest made sure the wound was stable after his surgery. Aside from minor chest pain, burns, and scarring, the former Dark Knight would make a full recovery.

"So what happened?" Terry asked. "It says you have mild first degree burns around the wound."

Bruce took in a deep breath to collect his thoughts before answering. "It was quick and precise. A ranged attack. It must have come from outside the mansion since none of the alarms were tripped. I remember seeing a flash of light before going unconscious. This was a professional hit, Terry."

"The burns suggest it was some type of energy weapon, so that might narrow the suspect list down. Here's what I don't get: the hospital said it was a puncture wound when they called. Which is it?"

"My doctor hasn't been by yet to check in on me since the surgery," Bruce replied. "Maybe the medical technician on the scene called it in wrong, but I doubt it. You'll need to look into it. If a foreign object was extracted then the police have surely collected it by now."

"This looks like a pro job, but if it was so precise then why aren't you dead?"

"Good question." Bruce shifted under the sheets, obviously uncomfortable with the sterile confines of the hospital room. "Start there. Review the security feeds from the mansion and the surrounding grounds, including the outermost perimeter. Be careful. We still aren't sure why I was attacked in the first place. We don't know the motive and that's the most important piece to the puzzle."

Terry nodded in understanding. He rarely flew solo on assignments but until Bruce could be released from the hospital there wasn't much he could do to help. The Batman would have to investigate on his own. The thought intimidated him but he wasn't frightened. He didn't have time to be frightened.

The younger man leaned over to the sliding food tray and picked up a tiny metallic cylinder he had placed there upon entering the room. Clicking a small button on the side of the device, the invisible "dead zone" that had been erected around them evaporated, allowing any and all noise to once again pass freely between them. The tiny piece of equipment had been developed using technology from a former enemy, a dangerous but brilliant criminal named Shriek. It allowed them to discuss important matters without prying ears.

"I'll check in on your later, Mr. Wayne. Feel better."

"Hh," the elderly overseer muttered. He pulled his eyes away from the young man exiting his sterile room and looked over the vast landscape that was Gotham. Through the reinforced window he saw dozens of tiny dots moving quickly along the concrete pathways, steadily moving toward whatever destination that had chosen for that day.

Bruce Wayne sighed, unsure of what place he still had in the world.

* * *

"Enlarge upper right quadrant; intensify," the dark figure of the Batman commanded.

The large supercomputer before him immediately obeyed the verbal order. The image on the screen, a video captured still photo, zoomed in on the selected portion and quickly reorganized the pixels to create the clearest picture available. He had been at this for hours, determined to find some sort of clue to lead him in the right direction.

It had taken getting used to, but under the advice of his mentor he had accepted the fact that when he was working and the mask was on he was no longer Terry McGinnis. The very moment the cowl was in place he became part of a legacy and the mantle he wore was not to be taken lightly. At first, the personality change that overcame him had been unnatural. His mannerisms and tone were what he thought people expected of Batman. Over time and various trials, he had created a distinct separation between himself the mantle. He was unique.

Despite the late hour and his level of exhaustion there was work to be done. The attempt on Bruce Wayne's life had to take precedence. His other ongoing cases and investigations would wait until he had the answers he was looking for.

He leaned forward in his chair, closer to the enlarged still frame that showed shadows draped over a dozen trees that lined the outermost perimeter of the Wayne Estate. There wasn't much to go on; whoever had committed the crime had covered their tracks well. In the magnified portion, however, the sniper had slipped up. Whoever it was had done his or her best to keep themselves invisible to all detection, but they couldn't avoid the moonlight.

"Gotchya."

The image clearly showed a dark boot. The wind had been blowing that night, which had caused the passing clouds to move away from the moon just long enough to cast a shimmer of light over the assailant. The boot was only in view for seven frames before the light died away, but he now knew where the sniper had been sitting when he or she had fired into the mansion.

"Overlay stencil graph."

A thin, green grid quickly stitched itself together over the image. His fingers fluttering over the console, striking keys in a specific sequence, the Batman inputted the information necessary to gain another piece of important information. The graph began to bend and shift until it lined up with the boot, almost adhering to it. Batman measured the dip in the branch's height, an indication of weight. The amount of refracted ambient light indicated height. From those two calculations the computer was able to graft a full figure attached to the boot, showing an outline of the sniper's body.

It was only seventy-three percent accurate but it was enough to go on. The Batman now had the body shape of whoever had tried to kill Bruce Wayne. Next, he was ready to see what information the police had gathered.

For that, the Batman would investigate personally.

* * *

The black and red clad prowler studied his next target. His first had been simple, thanks largely to the System. His intense training and dedication, while occupying most of his life, irritated him to no end. He felt compelled to do these things yet unable to see justification in his actions. He was a machine, following blindly at his masters' commands.

But it didn't matter. Not when an angel such as himself had no need for redemption.

On the street below him a blue, custom-built Ventras 7000 slowly came into view alongside the front entrance of the building he had been watching. For the better part of three hours he had laid in wait for his target to return to what surely he thought of as a safe residence. The redheaded man stepped out of his vehicle, which was quickly reoccupied by the blonde valet attendant. Wealth has its privileges even at home.

The redhead entered the apartment building, blissfully unaware of the watchful eyes three hundred feet above his head. The dark figure, who had murdered in cold blood the night before, was prepared to do it again as he stood to his full height and prepared to jump. His legs tensed ever so slightly before pushing the rest of his body out into the open air, his arms extended.

Immediately, the segmented cape that wafted behind him stiffened and hummed to life, the anti-gravity generator hidden within its folds energizing to life. The silent figure hadn't fallen ten feet before his fall slowed and began to slant. Within moments he had crossed the gap between the two towers and was pressing against the side of the apartment building.

He smiled beneath his strange facemask, his faith completely entrusted to the creation of his benefactor. Despite his repulsion of what they were and what they made him do, he couldn't help but admire their ingenuity. For more years than some cared to admit the organization behind the development of his equipment had sought to replicate a holy agent on the human plane. His segmented cape, while stylish and captivating, was several generations beyond what the military was developing. It was thus far man's closest rendition of an angel's wings.

The anti-gravity field generated by the cape hugged the building's infrastructure, pausing slightly to shift the figure's momentum before sending him rocketing upward toward the roof. A split-second later he was standing on the roof's edge, facing the immaculate penthouse that cost more money than some people made in a decade.

Illuminators within the penthouse suddenly came to life as the red-haired man entered. The figure ducked down behind a collection of statues that were sprawled on the patio that covered most of the roof. The southeast side of the apartment, the side facing the dark figure, was mostly comprised of glass that gave him a perfect view inside of the entire penthouse. He watched as the redhead removed his expensive tie and coat, tossing them haphazardly onto a thousand-dollar chair.

The redhead made himself a drink, pouring an amber liquid into a glass and downing it just as quickly. He made himself a second, then a third. Halfway through the fourth drink he pulled in a deep breath and opened the patio door, allowing a cool night breeze to wash over the penthouse. His brief enjoyment of the luscious patio garden was interrupted by a high-pitched chirping coming from his vest.

"Dammit all," he slurred as he reached into the vest and retrieved his personal phone. "Whatizzit?"

The figure stood back up amongst the statues, his dark features becoming more and more obvious in the moonlight. The redhead stumbled around, oblivious to the figure while trying to understand what was being said to him via the smell cellular device. He began waving his arms and becoming more animated as the conversation progressed, irritation becoming overly evident in his voice.

Finally, with a mouthful of obscenities, the red-haired man slammed the phone shut and downed the rest of his drink.

"Edgar Sharp."

The redhead whirled around at the sound of his name. The glass fell from his hands and shattered on the cement patio, spreading out like a glistening spider web. Ambient light from his penthouse apartment allowed for just enough of the figure's form to show that Edgar felt his stomach drop out from under him. It was all he could do not to scream or run.

"What…what do you want?" he asked the figure.

"An interesting question," the dark intruder responded. "What I want simply doesn't matter. My own personal desires have been thrust aside in what a higher power may find ironic. I have found myself captive within my work. However, you mustn't misunderstand…"

The figure raised up both of his arms so that back of his hands faced Edgar Sharp. Slicing into the air, twin blades erected with a shudder, frightening Edgar and causing him to stumble back against the roof ledge.

"…I am allowed to enjoy my work."

The blades began to glow a sickening orange, almost as if they were on fire. A soft hum filled Edgar's ears, a byproduct of the vibrating blades that adorned the intruder's gauntlets. It was enough to unsettle Edgar's already delicate state of mind. He charged forward, intent on attacking his assailant before matters were out of hand. Edgar, in his stupor and self-righteous manner, was unfortunately unaware that matters were already beyond his control.

* * *

"I'll be home as soon as I wrap up what I'm doing," the Commissioner said into the old-fashioned desk phone. "Well, this paperwork doesn't file itself. I know. Me, too. Love you."

Barbara Gordon hung up and let out a deep sigh she hadn't even been aware of holding in. She wasn't young anymore and her days of pulling all-nighters were behind her. She had reached the age when her pension would have kicked in seven years ago, but she just couldn't bring herself to retire, no matter how much her husband wanted her to.

Her father had been exactly the same. James Gordon was one of the proudest men she had ever known and she knew that if he was still on the Earth to see her sit in his chair he would have smiled that little bashful smile of his.

"Thinking about the past?"

Normally she would have been startled be a deep voice emanating from the dark corner of her office, but her life was anything but normal. In fact, she smirked slightly at the sudden appearance of an unlikely ally.

"How did you know?" she asked.

Batman stepped out from the darkness, his form still somehow attached to the black of the night sky. The red emblem on his chest was the only thing that stood out, a symbol of fear to most of the city. He was thin but tone, tall but distinguished.

"You always get that look on your face when you reminisce," the Batman answered curtly. "I assume you know why I'm here."

"I was expecting you earlier but I guess you've been busy. The Jokerz are back in town. It looks like they're organizing--"

"I took down Mad Harriet and her crew last night." Batman crossed his long arms over his chest and glared at the Commissioner. "Quit dancing around it. I'm here for whatever information you have on the attack of Bruce Wayne. I understand you may have retrieved whatever was fired at him."

**# (Last issue – Dave)**

"I was there when Bruce went into the operating room," Barbara said a little defensively. "The doctors ruled it as some type of energy discharge. What makes you think we retrieved anything?"

"The initial emergency call stated it was a puncture wound."

She shrugged. "Mistakes happen in the field, you know that. We just brought in some rookies that--"

Batman stepped forward and slapped both his hands flat on the end of her desk. His facemask hid whatever expression was ridden across his face but it was obvious that he wasn't pleased.

"Don't cut me out of this! I'm not one of your rookies."

"No, you're a vigilante."

Batman stood back up to his full height, peering down at the seated Commissioner. It was an argument they had gone through several times over the last two years. Regardless of the fact that Barbara Gordon used to fight alongside Gotham's protectors in her own cape and cowl she now stood on the side of the law that considered vigilantes to be criminals. Batman made no mistake about it; Barbara Gordon was a cop through and through.

"This is serious, Commissioner. This is Bruce we're talking about. I don't have time to squabble over semantics."

"It's not simple semantics, kid, and that's why you still don't get it. Your brand of justice went the way of the dodo."

"I could break into your mainframe and take what I want," Batman threatened.

"I'm aware. Even if you did you wouldn't find much." Barbara took in another deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I'm not asking for you to hand over evidence. Just tell me what you know, for Bruce's sake."

"Kid, you've got nerves that Superman would even be proud of. For Bruce's sake." Barbara swung her chair around and flopped a thin file onto her desk, opening it in the same motion. "I know I'll regret this, but…I was serious when I said you wouldn't find much. We found a small silver piece of metal near Bruce, broken. The other piece of the shard was removed from his chest cavity. This thing is unlike anything I've ran across before, but our lab boys matched the atomic structure to an alloy developed by something called the Q Society. We believe the fragment was somehow energized before fired, giving it the strength needed to do a lot of damage."

"Like a rail gun."

"Exactly. Somehow a person was able to generate enough energy to make this tiny sliver of metal a deadly weapon from over a thousand feet. We've turned up absolutely nothing on this Q Society so far, but we're digging deep.

Batman eyed up his mentor's longtime friend, unsure of how to proceed. "I need a better look at the evidence personally. I won't remove it. My suit can analyze the information I need faster than your equipment. Just tell me where to find it and what to look for."

"Look. I don't want to cut you out but I don't really have a choice here. I cannot condone your methods. I left that life behind me and if you were--"

A red light on the intercom on her desk began to blink rapidly. She flipped the switch at the corner of it and said, "Gordon. What is it?"

"_We got a situation uptown, Commish! You better get up there. We're getting reports that some nut in a costume threw one of those Q Society guys you had being watched off his roof. I think we cornered the guy who tried to kill Wayne!"_

Barbara looked over at Batman but she found herself staring at an empty room.

* * *

**Beyond the Issue**

The saga continues! Exactly how close to the line will Terry go in order to find out the truth? In the next issue we'll get more answers to that very question (but don't be surprised if you're left scratching your head).

A few people have asked me exactly how much of Bruce Timm's animated universe will I be bringing in to this series. I don't want to give too much away, but I will say that you can expect to see the JLU, various bad guys from Batman's rogues gallery, and more faces from the past reimagined.

Send in your feedback and I'll post your letters in this space!

-D. Golightly

2/20/07


	3. Chapter 3

**Batman Beyond**

Issue #3

"Agent of the Bat: Part Three"

* * *

"Never would see something like this in Metropolis."

The police officer who had muttered the statement stood with his head tilted back, ignoring the growing pain arising in his neck. The gentle breeze would have ruffled his hair if he had any left. He was only three years away from retirement, and he decided to try and go out on a high note by experiencing the turf that was Gotham City. He had heard the rumors of midnight madmen rampaging through the streets, blowing things up and recklessly endangering the citizens.

In three months he hadn't seen a single oddity, but tonight had broken all his expectations. The eye that had been replaced years ago by cybernetics zoomed in on the rooftop and focused on a strange caped figure, a man who had just killed the man they were supposed to be guarding.

"Relax, Detective Morgan," his partner said as he came up behind him. Obviously several years younger, his partner also weighed considerably less and looked like he was built for running. "Once we get air support in this nutcase will be behind bars before you know it."

"Easy for you to say, Smalls" Morgan replied. "You're used to this stuff. The Commish had us watching this Sharp guy because there's some sort of connection to that Bruce Wayne thing **&**, and before I could blink he's taking a swan dive out of his penthouse apartment with some costume standing on the ledge."

**& (Bruce was nearly killed in the first issue – Dave)**

"That's Gotham," Smalls replied. "Fruitcakes on every corner. I've only been on the force for a few years but I'm used to it. Don't worry, Morgan. I'll make sure you make it to your retirement."

Morgan shot his younger partner an irritated look. "Save the placating for the ladies," he said. "I meant I'm not used to sitting still while the perp gets away. We were watching the building and never saw a thing until it was too late. Back in Metropolis crime is virtually nonexistent, so you'll have to excuse me if I'm a little eager to try and catch a killer."

The detective brushed by Smalls, drawing his weapon as he hurried down the sidewalk. He glanced up every few seconds to the rooftops to see if he could catch another glance of the costumed mystery man that had thrown Edgar Sharp to his death. Smalls hesitated for a moment, but finally drew out his own gun and quickly followed his senior partner.

"The Commish told us to secure the scene!" Smalls called out. "She's going to demote us for sure if—Hey! Wait a second!"

The muffled whining of jet engines caught Smalls' attention. Overhead he saw a sleek black craft rocket through the air, absorbing most of the moonlight that tried to pinpoint it. If it wasn't for the city's illuminators he would have missed it entirely. At first he thought it might be the GCPD air support they were waiting for, but instead he realized it was someone that held the honor of being Gotham's most wanted criminal.

Smalls picked up his pace and started to close the distance between himself and his partner. If the Batman was going to get there first, he was going to make sure he was a close second.

* * *

The black interior of the Batmobile was flooded with the crimson light of the controls, casting an eerie glow over the lone passenger. Batman grimaced as he looked over the infrared display, which showed a pair of men running in roughly the same direction he was headed. He surmised that they were most likely the officers on scene, and while he often valued their help, he currently wished they would just let him do his job.

He hadn't yet pieced together the puzzle, but things were starting to fall into place. He pulled back on the controls, leveling the state of the art craft with the horizon as he reviewed what he knew thus far. Someone had made an attempt on Wayne's life using technology connected to something called the Q Society. Now a high level executive within the Q Society, a man named Edgar Sharp, had been murdered by an unknown costumed assailant. It couldn't have been a coincidence.

An alarm sounded within the cockpit as a second display zoomed in on a length of rooftop. The infrared image outlined a figure racing along the tops of the high-rise apartment buildings, leaping effortlessly between them. "Switch to night vision; overlay stencil graph," the Batman commanded.

The onboard computer instantly confirmed with a chirp, plastering a green grid over top of the display. Punching in several commands, Batman applied the information he had gained from his earlier investigation into the Wayne shooting. He knew the body shape, weight, and height of the assassin, and hoped that he was tailing the same person. **&**

**& (As seen in the second issue – Dave)**

As the green graph contorted to try and fit with the costumed individual on the screen, the digital readout confirmed what Batman already suspected.

"Slag," Batman swore. "Not him."

Thrusting the controls of the aircraft forward, the Batman dove down toward the red, black, and yellow costumed assailant, wishing that Lady Luck would throw him a bone every once in a while.

Whoever this guy was, he wasn't the assassin that had tried to take out his mentor, but he was still a suspect. There was a connection between this new player and the attempt on Wayne's life. He just had to keep hitting until he found it.

* * *

He was growing tired from running, but the System made sure he retained the strength he needed to keep moving. Silently he cut through the night, hopping from one building to the next with ease. The segmented cape attached to his shoulders housed technology that allowed him to hover in the moonlight like the angel he aspired to be.

He approached the edge of the next building, ready to leap faithfully into the sky, but as his foot fell down one last time he stopped cold. He hesitated. Even though his dark mask covered his entire face his hearing was still distinctly accurate. What was that sound?

The mysterious figure turned just in time to avoid being hit by something thin and deadly. The object embedded itself in an antenna array beside his head, its sharp edge easily digging deep into the metal. He squinted at the object, noticing how it was shaped like a creature of the night.

"Don't move," he heard a voice yell from somewhere above him.

He saw a black-clad figure descend from the sky, his arms open wide. A red symbol was splashed across his chest, and some type of red colored fabric was stretched between his arms and torso, allowing him to gently touch down on the roof a dozen yards away. Was it netting? Webbing? No…no, it was something much more familiar. In fact, this man was not a man at all. He couldn't be.

"Stand still," he was told. "You just murdered a man connected to the Q Society. You're going to tell me why, and then you're going to jail. First things first – who are you?"

It could talk? Amazing. The netting – no, the _wings_ between his arms slipped back into this creature's body. He was dark and brooding, complete with all the signature traces of those that do evil.

"I am Azrael," the mystery figure finally replied, "unwavering angel of death and mercy. I have committed no crimes, foul demon. Your presence in this matter harbors an ill fate for whoever crosses our path, so let us finish this quickly."

"Demon?" Batman said, shocked. "Um…okay. A religious nut. Great. Look, Azrael—"

"Hold thy tongue, demon! Your ability to speak places you above the lower ilk, but know that I am an angel and cannot be influenced by the likes of your dark power."

"I don't have time for this," Batman shot back as he fell into a crouch and aimed both of his arms at his opponent. As he flexed his forearms, twin grapple lines shot out and wrapped themselves around Azrael. The steel mesh cable was strong enough to hold a two ton vehicle at bay with engines going full throttle. "Now you're going to tell me why you just sent Edgar Sharp to the big corporation in the sky or—"

"Silence!" Azrael screamed. A blade slipped out of the strange man's gauntlet, cutting into the grapple line. The sharp blade suddenly began to glow and hum with power, changing its original silver color to a bright orange. Azrael sliced through the restraints easily, exerting no more effort than a child would to shrug out of a tangled jump rope.

A pair of batarangs slipped out of Batman's wrists and into his hands, but before he could launch them his foe had covered the distance between them. Leading with his vibrating blade, Azrael thrust his arm downward and barely missed the cowled crusader. The strange blade clanged against the rooftop, scratching deep into the concrete surface.

"Fine," Batman said. "We'll do this the hard way. I'm really not in the mood for this."

With the grace of a jungle cat, brought about by years of training from both his mentor and various other agents, the Batman twirled in the air using the momentum of his dodge to aim a kick at Azrael's facemask. His boot connected with a thunderclap as the strength enhancers in his suit added to the hit. Azrael managed to roll with the kick, bending backward and extending his arms out, turning the fall into a back handspring. Batman instinctively moved forward to further engage his opponent, but the upswinging feet of Azrael both connected under his chin as the strange enemy completed his evasive maneuver.

Batman stumbled backward, his feet moving to try and catch up with his sudden change in posture. Azrael rushed forward, hovering in the air thanks to the equipment in his cape, swiping his extended blade back and forth in an attempt to cut the Batman completely in half. The humming blade resonated with the power and fury of its owner, threatening to bypass whatever protection Batman's suit would offer.

The Dark Knight leapt back and ducked under another swipe of the vibrating blade. They were both fast and nearly equally matched for strength. Given that he had never seen or heard of this character before, Batman judged that he had the edge in experience, which meant he had the edge in the overall fight. He just had to hold out long enough to gain an advantage.

"Make this easy for yourself," Batman said. "Quit while you're ahead."

"My soul cannot be tainted by your taunting," Azrael roared as he continued to press his assault.

Batman threw himself to the side, unfolding his wings quickly to allow for better control. The kick had been stronger than he anticipated, meaning that either Azrael was naturally strong or his suit enhanced his strength in much the same way as his did. He shook his head, rattling off the hit. Falling into another crouch, Batman activated his boot jets and shot himself at Azrael, using his wings to stabilize his trajectory.

He heard Azrael huff as he tackled him around the waste. The pair fell to the rooftop, rolling over several times before Azrael planted himself on top. The wanted killer stabbed at Batman's head with the vibrating blade, but only dug into the concrete once Batman tilted his head. Azrael's strength backfired as the blade was embedded too far into the roof for him to retract the blade, in effect holding him in place while Batman used his legs as leverage to flip Azrael off of him.

Quickly pouncing back up, Batman grabbed the segmented cape fluttering from Azrael's shoulders as he fell over, still unable to leave the spot on the roof thanks to his blade being caught in place. Yanking back hard, Batman forced Azrael's face to slam into the roof face first, cracking the mysterious man's facemask.

"You're finished," Batman said as he stood up to his full height. "Now tell me why you just murdered a man in cold blood."

"The term 'murder' implies wrongdoing, demon," Azrael shot back between breathes. "I am a righteous creature, but I am sure you wouldn't understand the meaning of the word."

"Try me."

"The one you call Edgar Sharp was a usurper. He stole many things from me and my brethren, tainting their meaning and bending their intent to his corporate greed."

Batman crouched down, careful to keep his distance from the suspect. "Care to elaborate on that?" he asked.

"Defiling demon!" Azrael suddenly screamed. "You would dare command me, an angel of purest—"

Batman reached out and ripped the facemask out from under Azrael's crimson hood. The black and red mask snapped off, revealing the pale face of a young man close to his own age. The anger evident on his face quickly dissipated to confusion as his eyes shifted left and right, then finally focusing on the dark Batman before him.

"Enough with the fanatical talk," Batman said. "Who are you?"

"I...you mean I…" Azrael stuttered. He looked confused and frightened, unaware of what was happening to him. Batman looked at the facemask, wondering if there had been some sort of control being exerted over this young man somehow. "My name is Douglas. Douglas Trenton. I'm a law student at Gotham University. I'm… Oh, my aching head."

"Doug, do you know where you are?"

The young man looked around after he brushed the hood behind his head, revealing blonde hair underneath. "Gotham, I think. Are we on a roof?"

"You just murdered a man named Edgar Sharp, Doug. You claimed to be an angel of death named Azrael. Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Azrael," Doug repeated with a whisper. He looked at the armor covering his body and noticed the humming blade as if for the first time, still embedded in to rooftop. He pressed a switch on the gauntlet and retracted the blade, now able to sit up. "No, this can't be right. This has to be some mistake. Edgar Sharp? No. I couldn't have killed him. He's my supervisor."

"Did you work for him?"

"I had an internship set up through the Q Society," Douglas explained, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. "I worked for Mr. Sharp. He was way shway. Hooked me up with double the class credit since I ran all these errands for him. Even got me a stipend. He's dead?"

"What did you do for Sharp exactly?" Batman asked, ignoring Doug's last remark.

"Typical internship stuff," the youth explained. "Coffee, filing, that sort of thing. He let me help around the office and stuff. I didn't just work for him, though. A bunch of executives used me for small odd jobs. The last thing I remember was reporting to another executive's office and then…where am I exactly?"

"Who was the last executive you reported to?"

"Winston Quetzal."

A stairwell door suddenly burst open, birthing a pair of men out onto the rooftop a few dozen yards from the pair of costumed vigilantes. Their weapons were drawn and the badges shimmering on their chests marked them as two of Gotham's finest.

"Freeze!" the older one said as he leveled his gun at Batman. "You're both under arrest!"

"Sorry," Batman said. "I'm a little too busy to get arrested tonight."

He pushed off the ground and leapt straight into the air, soaring twenty feet before igniting his boot jets and extending his wings. Rising higher into the air, within seconds the Batman was nearly out of sight and beyond the grasp of the pair of officers.

As the older policeman swore at the departing vigilante, the younger one raced over to Azrael. "Detective Smalls," he said to identify himself. "You're under arrest, kid. Get up, and don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

Douglas slowly rose to his feet, scared and nervous, placing his hands behind his head. He stared off into the night, his eyes fixated on the Batman for as long as they were able, wondering what exactly his life had changed into.

* * *

As the Batmobile began to power down, Terry McGinnis slipped off the cowl that covered his head. The long ears of the hood fell back, going limp. The damp feel of the cave had already begun to make its way through the vehicles air vents, clinging to his skin. He ran through the docking procedure and sighed, finally letting the fatigue of the last twenty-four hours set in.

The cockpit door slid back, allowing Terry to stand up and jump out of the impressive vehicle. When he landed on the gray cave floor he nearly stumbled, surprising him. Apparently he was more tired than he thought.

Making his way across the cave he noticed for the first time that the series of monitors was active, flashing through information. He didn't remember leaving the equipment on to scan news feeds, as Bruce often did when he rarely left the chamber. Either he was so tired he was forgetting things, or he wasn't alone.

The scratching of animal paws on the cave floor alerted him to the attack just before he was struck down from the side. Rolling on to his back, he head the beast at bay, desperate to avoid its slobbering tongue.

"Ace," Terry muttered between laps of the guard dog's tongue. "Ease up, boy. Okay, okay. I'm sorry I forgot to feed you before I went out. Just relax, okay?"

Ace, Bruce Wayne's Doberman guard dog and loyal companion, relaxed his tongue lashing long enough for Terry to stand back up, seemingly satisfied with the apology. He rubbed against Terry's legs, nearly knocking him over. "Not that you need to eat anything else," Terry said. "You're already big enough to frighten small children."

"What did you find out?"

Terry whipped back around to face the monitor womb. "Bruce," he said, surprised. "What are you doing out of the hospital? The doctor said you needed to—"

"I'm fine," the elderly man replied. "That doctor was fresh out of his residency and was more concerned with his paycheck than my health. There's more important things happening right now, and there isn't anything at the hospital that we don't have here. Now, what did you find out?"

Recognizing the stubbornness that the Commissioner so often referred to, Terry sighed again as he walked over to his mentor. "Not much, but I ran into someone who was wearing this." He dropped the facemask he had taken from Azrael onto the counter.

"According to Commissioner Gordon you were shot with a rail gun that was made with technology from a place called the Q Society. One of their executives was killed tonight, a man named Edgar Sharp. I tracked down the guy that did it and took this off him. As soon as I took his mask off he got all weird, like he wasn't aware of what he had been doing. He could have been faking it, I guess, but I got the impression that he was legit."

Bruce Wayne stared at the red and black mask intently, as if trying to pierce it with his gaze. "Bruce?" Terry asked. "You okay?"

"The man you took this from. What did he call himself?"

"Azrael. Why? That mean something?"

Bruce Wayne swiveled in his chair back to face the monitor array, sighing himself as he turned. "If Azrael is involved, then things just went from bad to worse. I know you're tired but you can't go home tonight. You won't be safe there, especially if the rumors I've heard are true."

"What rumors?"

"Everything is for sale, Terry," Bruce said. "Nothing is sacred anymore. Including a person's beliefs."

"I'm not following you."

"I thought the Sacred Order of Saint Dumas, of which Azrael is an agent of, had been disbanded years ago. I heard a rumor that the Q Society, once a proud agency from South America, had taken over the Order in much the same way corporations practice hostile takeovers. Religion, business…there's barely a line between the two anymore. The Q Society used to be one of the good guys, but internal warfare changed all that. I never thought things would get this far, but it looks like I was wrong."

Terry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the console, relaxing as much as he was able. "Okay, so what does that mean for us?"

"The Sacred Order of Saint Dumas was privy to an information network spanning the globe," Wayne explained. "The mantle of Azrael is reserved for their top agent, often used as an assassin. One of their agents turned away from their practices and ended up becoming one of my allies years ago before he died horrifically. His name was Jean-Paul Valley and he knew many of my secrets."

"So you think that somehow the Order knew them, too…meaning that maybe this Q Society got a hold of that info when they took over?"

"It's possible. Where's this Azrael now?"

"Police custody."

"Hh," Bruce snorted. "Don't count on it. With the conditioning Azrael agents go through I'm sure he'll free himself soon enough. Find him before the police try to put him down. We'll need more information from him."

"Can't you just ask the Commissioner to—"

"I doubt she'll appreciate any help we offer. I'm sorry, Terry, but your night is just beginning."

* * *

**Beyond the Issue**

Azrael was always a character I wished had shown up in the Bruce Timm universe of animation. It's a shame we never got to see him in action on the Silver Screen, but maybe it was for the best. Let's face it – Azrael isn't exactly kid friendly.

You can expect to see a whole lot more of Douglad Trenton, I promise you that. Even after this arc is done I intend to keep him around as a supporting character.

So, has the Q Society rung any bells yet? Have you run off to Wikipedia to learn what it is yet? Find out what their deal is in the next issue and learn the fate of Azrael!

-D. Golightly

7/21/07


	4. Chapter 4

**Batman Beyond**

Issue #4

"Agent of the Bat: Part Four (Conclusion)"

Written by D. Golightly

* * *

Night in Gotham City is never as innocent as it looks. With the brilliant lights of the buildings spread throughout, it's amazing if a person can find a dark shadow to hide behind. But, if you know where to look, the shadows can provide a blanket that makes a man invisible.

The Batman carefully moved beneath the lip of the roof, on an edge just narrow enough for him to crawl on. The building he had silently stalked to was the holding pen for Gotham's recently arrested criminal element. The city had grown so massive over the decades, and crime so rampant, that GCPD precincts were forced to temporarily house their captured lawbreakers in these smaller jails until room opened up in the main prison. Across the alley was police headquarters, and when combined with the holding pen, created a campus of law enforcement.

"I'm not sure I need to do this," Terry McGinnis, the costumed Batman, whispered. A microphone in his facemask transmitted the message across the city to a sprawling labyrinth of caves beneath his employer's home. "We have enough information to move on this Winston Quetzal guy."

"The person masked as Azrael that you helped capture tonight could still provide move information," Bruce Wayne, the elderly man on the other end of the transmission, replied gruffly. "Find out what you can, but don't waste time. Quetzal needs to answer a few questions tonight too."

The Batman slipped to the far side of the building, away from prying eyes in the alley below, and attached a cable to the roof lip. Swinging free of the wall without fear of falling, he allowed the cable to support his weight as he hung upside down. The black and red of his suit concealed him as well as it could, although the passing moonlight might betray him.

Slowly, he manipulated the controls on his belt where the cable was attached to lower himself down the wall. He soon can to the first window, where he peered in to see the very man he was looking for: Douglas Trenton, also now known as Azrael.

Batman tapped on the glass. It was a few inches thick and reinforced to withstand a grenade blast. Which was fine. He only wanted to talk, and the suit would let him do that. Pressing his hand against the glass, Batman activated the mechanism that allowed him to hear through vibrations. When sound in the room pushed against the glass, the device would translate the pulses into audio. With a minor recent adjustment, he was now able to reproduce the process so that people in the room could hear him after the suit pulsated the glass. It would sound like an old radio to Douglas, but it would work for his purposes.

"Trenton," Batman said softly. The electronics in his fingertips pulsated and moved the glass. Inside the lonely cell, the young Douglas twitched and jerked awake. "Get up. We need to talk."

"What? Who?"

"Look up. I don't have a lot of time."

"You! Hey, you've got to tell the cops that I didn't do anything!"

Batman sighed. He knew that the kid had been brainwashed somehow, but that didn't change the fact that as Azrael he had still committed a murder. "Help me find Winston Queztal. He's the only one that can help explain to the police what happened."

"He never leaves the complex," Doug answered. "I've never seen him outside the office before. You can bet that he'll be there even now."

"Tell me what you remember before I found you."

"Nothing. Not really. Just that I went to see Mr. Quetzal and he had a job for me. I blacked out after that."

"Did that happen often?"

"I…well, not really. One other time I think. I don't know. Maybe. Why? It's hard to remember."

"The information I've found on you doesn't say anything about combat training. When we fought you obviously had experience fighting. Some of the things you did are world class."

Douglas scratched his head and sat down on the cot. "So, you're saying what…that I'm some kind of sleeper assassin? Do you think you could tell the cops that? That might get me out of here."

"I think they would rather here it from Quetzal. Just stay put. I'll get to the bottom of it."

Douglas called to him not to leave as he ascended back toward the roof, but he ignored the request. He felt for him, sensing that they were kindred spirits, of a sort. After he met with Quetzal, maybe he could help Douglas out, but for now he was on his own.

* * *

"Hey, Batman! Don't go! C'mon, you've got to talk to the cops for me!"

Batman's dark figure swept above his window, leaving Douglas alone. He was confused, alone, and scared. He appreciated that the urban myth, Batman, had offered to help, but he much preferred something more proactive. He couldn't sit in prison. He needed to get out.

He sat down on his cot, rocking back and forth slowly, trying to think. His thoughts were coming to him in a strange way ever since Batman had ripped the mask of Azrael off of his head. He saw things differently, and it scared him. When he looked at a person all he saw were ways he could hurt them. Ways to make them suffer. Ways to make them pay.

It was this…System. He knew that was what it was called. He didn't understand how it operated, but he knew that it had something to do with the brainwashing he had apparently gone through. Quetzal had the answers, so he had to get out of here.

He looked at the door to his cell. Soon the guards would come for him to transport him to the actual prison. The security would be much tighter then. He would have to act fast.

* * *

The gentle hum of the Batmobile rocketed across the Gotham skyline. With his suit connected to the controls, it moved almost effortlessly. The screen, dosed in shades of red, highlighted a single building in a brooding green. He angled the airship to head straight for the targeted building, making sure to avoid any possible source of detection, which included radar.

Upon reaching the building, Batman yanked back on the controls and vertically traced the side of the Gotham branch of the Q Society. This was where Winston Quetzal would be hiding. The sooner he got it inside and found out the connection between Azrael, the Q Society, and the reason for Bruce Wayne's attempted murder, the better.

Batman tapped the controls and set the Batmobile on autopilot. He slapped the harness keeping him tightly bound to the seat, releasing the belts, and let himself fall out of the bottom hatch that had opened. As the vehicle careened straight up, Batman shot out at a perpendicular angle and smashed through a window on the sixteenth floor.

Glass scattered everywhere and Batman tucked himself into a ball. He rolled onto the floor, breaking his own fall expertly. The large room was dark and quiet, devoid of life. It looked like a filing area where computer banks were stored, housing company information.

Fairly soon his dramatic entrance would call whatever security the place had to come to his location. That's what he wanted. Bruce would have scouted around for a few hours before making himself known, but Terry couldn't operate that way. He was barely able to stay awake as it was, and too much time had been wasted already.

The blades that Azrael had used during their fight seemed to be very similar in technology to what had been shot at Bruce Wayne. It was further proof that someone from the Q Society had it in for the old man, but they still didn't know why. If what Bruce had told him about the Q Society buying out the Order of St. Dumas, showing that just about anything could be bought, then so far that was the only connection. Motive, however, was proving elusive. At least until Batman found Mr. Quetzal.

The rows upon rows of computer banks were lined up and down the large room. Batman stalked between them, waiting for his presence to be acknowledged. Within a few moments, the door slid open and he heard the unmistakable sound of whirling motors approach.

"Droids," he muttered with a smile. "Fun."

Two android security guards rolled into the room, each balanced on one wheel. Their twin arms raised toward Batman, who quickly somersaulted to the side and away from their weapons line of sight. The droids, not as quick, fired twin arcs of blue lightning that danced up and down the towers of computer banks. The droids dragged their streams of raw energy across the room, tracking Batman as he ran around to flank their position.

One of the computer terminals exploded, surprising Batman and making him stumble. He tucked his legs up and rolled with the fall, barely missing being singed by the arcs of electricity. Reacting with the training that had been drilled into him by his mentor, Batman flicked his wrists and a pair of red and black batarangs sliced through the air, lodging into the droids.

The unmistakable sound of whirling motors was replaced with the relieving thud of the metal droids hitting the floor, deactivated from having their robotic heads sliced off. "Always good for a work out," Batman said with a sneer.

"Or a distraction," a new voice from behind him said.

Before Batman could react, an arm reached out from the shadows and pressed a stun gun against his back, knocking him unconscious.

* * *

Terry woke up from feeling something slap him across the face. He was dizzy and disoriented. The first thing that came to mind was that the stun gun used to subdue him must have had one powerful charge behind it if the suit hadn't protected him. Without its protection he probably would have died.

Another slap on the other side of his face helped him push the grogginess further away. "I need you awake, you imbecile!"

Batman shifted to move away from the man in front of him, but for the second time that night he found himself dangling upside down. This time, however, was not by his choice. His arms were lashed behind his back and despite the strength his suit offered, he found that he couldn't break free of the bonds.

"Ah, finally awake."

Batman tilted his head back to get a full view of his captor. "Winston Quetzal I presume," the vigilante responded.

"You even pronounced it correctly. I applaud you."

Standing nearly as tall as Terry, Quetzal had dark skin with dark hair. He appeared to have been of South American decent, which given his surname, Batman assumed was true. His accent placed him somewhere in the Brazil area, although since Bruce hadn't enforced that particular part of his studies he couldn't be sure.

Quetzal took a few steps back and shook the hand he had been slapping his prisoner with. "That mask of yours provides a decent amount of protection. Like armor."

"You look like you know something about armor yourself."

Quetzal sneered and vaguely waved at the white and yellow costume he wore. "This? Then you recognize the design. The legendary hero Aztek wore something similar."

Around his waist, Quetzal wore a golden belt that was bulbous near the front. A pair of golden gauntlets adorned his fists, shiny and pristine. Behind him, Batman could see a gold helmet with braids extending from the top. He recalled hearing about the hero called Aztek, and there was a mention of him in the files that Bruce had been looking at on the screen back in the cave in reference to the Q Society.

"Aztek was meant to stop a coming evil," Winston explained as he paced around Batman. "But that evil never came. It was a fool's belief, a belief that many others were proud to follow. Much like the Order of St. Dumas."

Terry manipulated his gloves from the inside, sending commands to his visor. He quickly overlaid the green skeleton that he had the computer composite earlier, the grid-print of Bruce Wayne's attacker, over the visual of Winston Quetzal. The screen inside his visor moved the image overtop of Winston and chirped with satisfaction as it showed a one-hundred percent match. Batman had finally found the man that had tried to kill his mentor.

Now that he had another piece of the puzzle fit into place, he had to keep the man talking. "I suppose you can buy religion just like anything else," Batman said.

"Right again. My father purchased their sacred Order in an attempt to revitalize the success of the Q Society. After Darkseid unleashed his wave of destruction, and the fourth-dimensional mirror that powered the Aztek armor was destroyed, we needed to find new followers. New hope."

"New suckers."

Winston sneered again, this time with all of his teeth showing. "I learned the Order's secrets. I learned of their private assassin named Azrael and the technique they used to create him. It's called the System, and it's a quite remarkable way to brainwash someone. That insolent intern proved to be a quick study, whether he knew it or not."

"But why? What did you stand to gain from all this? Why kill off your own executives or make an attempt on Bruce Wayne, who isn't even a member of your company? Why send Azrael when you could have done it yourself?"

"There's money to be made in being a hero."

Quetzal stepped across the room and slipped his helmet on. It clicked into place, sealing off his bodysuit from the rest of the room and locking him inside. "Azrael will prove the perfect crazed enemy. I disposed of my executives that knew too much of the project, as well as anyone who knew too much about the Azrael conditioning. Bruce Wayne was a minor casualty as his name popped up all over the Order's database. I have no idea why. It seems that they were keeping tabs on him for some reason for the Q Society acquired them."

"But you tried to kill Wayne yourself."

"Yes, Azrael wasn't quite ready yet. He had a few more sessions worth of the System to undertake and I didn't want to let my own armor go to waste. I admit, my aim was a bit off. But I won't make the same mistake twice. Once I kill you and set Azrael up to square off with me in public, I'll defeat him and announce Aztek's return to the modern world."

"How does that translate to money for you?"

"When the world sees a forgotten hero, proven true in the public eye by defeating a killer that even the great Batman couldn't contain, the Q Society will be flooded with grateful donations to support the cause. Aztek will become a new symbol. A corporate symbol."

"You're making a mockery of what a real hero is."

"No." Quetzal, or Aztek as he now appeared to be, adjusted his right gauntlet and aimed it at Batman. A thin sliver of material slipped out of the side and began to glow. It was the same rail gun that he had used to nearly kill Bruce. "A hero is only as good as the company behind him. This isn't the 21st century anymore, kid."

Batman, helplessly dangling by his feet, squirmed and tried to swing back and forth. Desperation was setting in. He had gone in alone. Next time, if there was a next time, he would tell Gordon where he was going. Even if they didn't see eye to eye on how to handle crime in Gotham, at least the Commissioner could provide back-up when it counted.

The door pounded open. Aztek pivoted on his one foot to see what the commotion was. One of the droids that had attacked Batman earlier flew inside the room, smashing against the wall.

"What the devil!" Quetzal screamed.

"Not devil. Angel."

Douglas Trenton bounded into the room, no longer held by the innocence in his eyes. Batman took advantage of the distraction and began swinging himself more dramatically, hoping to catch something in the room that he could prop himself up on. Meanwhile, Aztek turned his full attention to the intruder and would-be assassin, forgetting about the Dark Knight.

"Inscrutable fool!" Aztek exclaimed as he fired his rail gun at the young man. "I'm not ready to kill you yet!"

"Tough."

Doug bounded over the blast from the rail gun, avoiding the deadly shard of metal that had been energized. The conditioning he had undergone to become Azrael was unconscious, but somehow, perhaps through sheer willpower, Douglas had tapped into the System and bent it to his own needs. His agility was amazing as he weaved between each of Aztek's feeble ranged attacks.

Frustrated, Aztek smashed a stack of containers beside him with one blow, sending the round items sailing through the air. The bundle slammed into Doug, knocking him over. As well-versed as his unconscious mind was in maneuvering, there was simply no where to run to avoid the stack of containers.

Aztek towered over the fallen youth, aiming his rail gun at his head. "You broke out of prison. The police will be grateful when I return you to them and debut my presence to the world. In a way you've helped me. You saved me the trouble of breaking you out myself. Your skills are quite impressive. It's a shame that you'll have to die. What a waste."

"The only thing wasted here is your own future."

Aztek whirled just in time to see a black-gloved fist smash into his face. Despite the protection that his gold helmet offered, Quetzal stumbled back and tripped over Douglas from the momentum of the strike.

Batman stood over both of them, but his attention was directed toward Aztek. It had taken him a few moments to swing toward the far wall, and once he had been able to do that, his boot jets positioned him at the right angle to blast himself free of the binding cord that had been wrapped around him.

"I've radioed the GCPD. They're on their way. It's over, Quetzal. Your days of being a hero are finished before they can even begin."

Aztek leaned forward to stand up, but Batman placed a boot squarely on his chest, keeping him down. He stole a quick glance over at Doug, who was still breathing beneath the mess of canisters.

Batman had felt compelled to call the police, even though he didn't want to bother with them. This man, this disgusting pseudonym for the term 'hero,' had attacked the one man that filled the role of father in his life. But if there was one thing that Bruce had taught him, it was that personal vengeance would do little to aid his mission.

As he heard the sirens approaching from the distance, Batman knew that even though he had done the right thing by calling them, he would probably regret it for a long time.

* * *

"The case is over. Wrapped up. All in a nice package that I left for your boys."

Terry walked down the central path of the entrance to Gotham University. Dressed in his brown jacket and black slacks, he casually strolled down the outside entry to the college with a phone pressed to his ear.

"We've had this discussion before, McGinnis," a female voice said on the other end of the phone connection.

"And I've sure we'll have it again, Commissioner. But I'm not coming in for a statement. Quetzal is in your custody. That should be enough."

"I can't have vigilantes running around my city, McGinnis. I don't care what my own past is. I don't care about your boys' club or your do-gooder attitude. I've seen how it hurts people in the end. Trust me, kid, I'm doing you a favor by making sure you and I don't cross paths."

"Not a problem. Tell Quetzal I said hi."

Terry hung up and placed the miniature phone, which boasted a secure line, back into his pocket. He entered the main building of the university and prepared for class, sitting down in the back and making sure he hadn't forgotten his textbook like last time.

He anticipated what Gordon had said. She had said it before, and as he surmised, she would probably say it again. But that wouldn't stop him from continuing the mission that another had started before him. Bruce Wayne had taught him everything he knew, and an important lesson was that there would always be a need for Batman.

Just as Terry leaned back in his chair, the teacher walked in and ordered the class to quiet down. He said something about their physics lesson for that day, which illicited a moan from the class as a whole. But Terry wasn't paying attention. His focus was attuned to another in the class, a special student in much the same way that he was special.

The teacher began lecturing, and within the first minute, Douglas Trenton raised his hand and asked a question. Terry had made sure that the police never found him at the scene when they came for Quetzal. Doug had potential. Perhaps as an alley in the future. Whatever the youth's future held, he didn't deserve to be in prison. He had been brainwashed and Terry couldn't willingly hand him over to the authorities again.

Bruce instructed him to watch Douglas carefully in case he had a breakdown. According to his mentor, those that underwent conditioning with the System sometimes lost touch with reality. Terry wasn't worried. He knew about second chances and how valuable they were.

A second chance, even if a person didn't know they were getting it, was more precious than just about anything that Terry could think of.

* * *

**Beyond the Issue**

Well…it's been over a year since the last issue. I could say I'm sorry, but would it matter? I mean…it's fanfic.

Even still. Sorry!

Terry McGinnis is a great character and maybe I'll come back to him someday. It's very possible, as I would really like to set up this shadowy dynamic between the new Azrael and Batman. Hell, I even have plans for a new Oracle and a new Robin. But, it's going to be awhile, if EVER, that I get to them.

I guess I'm saying don't hold your breath. This is the end.

For now.

-D. Golightly

11/4/08


End file.
